The Winter That Bled Fire
by Queen Daenerys Targaryen
Summary: Jon Snow was a bastard. Nothing more, nothing less. He was son to Lord Eddard Stark and a brother of the Night's Watch. Until he wasn't. When a letter from King's Landing reaches the wall, Jon Snow learns who he truly is, and has to decide where he stands. There's a new player in the Game of Thrones, and he won't be so easily defeated.
1. Prologue

**A/N Hey guys so this is my first Game of Thrones fanfic and I'm not sure how it'll go so leave me a review and tell me how you like it! ****The story takes place during the middle of the first book.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Game of Thrones or any of the characters**

**Enjoy!**

"_Snow, snow, snow." _Lord Commandor Mormont's raven quorked as Jon Snow, son of Eddard Stark and recent brother of the Night's Watch, lit a fire in the Lord Commander's cold and dim apartments.

"Quiet bird," Mormont hissed between his teeth, "I'm trying to think."

"If I may ask," Jon started hesitantly, rising from his crouch upon the stoney floor, "what have you been trying to think about, my lord?"

Lord Mormont looked at him curiously from where he sat on the other side of the room. He hmmm-ed and hah-ed, as if he was a specimen of sorts; like a maester studying a deceased human body at the Citadel in Old Town, attempting to forge another link onto his chain.

"Who was your mother, Snow?" The question was so abrupt and blunt, Jon dropped the burning poker in his hand onto his foot. Stiffling a cry of pain, Jon shook his head.

"I presume you have a mother? Or am I mistaken?" the Old Bear shook his head intolerably as Jon regained his composure.

"You aren't mistaken my lord, I do have a mother, but a mother with a name I cannot say nor a face I can distinguish." Jon looked down, small beads of sweat appearing on his brow. Whether it was from the heat of the fire, or the intensity in Mormonts glare, Jon couldn't say.

"Lord Eddard," the Lord Commander said after an exchange of silence, "he was your father." It was more of a statement than a question. Jon narrowed his eyes minutely. He had already _known _that he was Jon's father, so why did he need confirmation?

"Yes, my lord." The Lord Commander picked up a piece of weathered parchment and held it up to a flickering candle. He seemed dazed, entranced, and Jon Snow stood by the fire in the hushed room, while the winds of winter stormed outside. "Would you be needing anything further, my lord?"

The Lord Commander seemed startled to find Jon still in his presence. He watched him again, though this time Jon felt as if he was looking at him less like a specimen in the Citadel and more like a statue of the Warrior, whom men bowed before and lit candles of prayer for. Jon felt uncomfortable.

"Nothing." Lord Mormont said suddenly, loud enough to send his raven squawking across the room. He stood up with a squeak of his chair, and moved to pick up what looked like an old Targaryen history book of sorts, the sigil of their House gleaming on the leather cover. "I have no further need of you, Snow." It was a moment's hesitation, but Jon caught it. The way he said _Snow _as if it pained him. Jon took it as his cue to exit.

* * *

As Jon exited the Lord Commander's tower into the chill winds of the North, Samwell Tarly came bustling towards him, panting heavily.

"Jon." He called through an exhale of breath. "Jon!" He began to wave his hands wildly, trying to capture Jon's attention.

"Sam." Jon greeted, only partially annoyed. He needed time to think. The Old Bear had been assigning Jon more and more tasks each and every day. He had been asking Jon to do things for him much more than usual. It almost seemed as if he couldn't bear to have Jon out of his sight, and had been eyeing him when he was without. It gave Jon an uneasy feeling: an uneasy feeling that he was guarding something from him.

His thoughts immediately jumped to his family. Could one of them be hurt? Dead? Could his whole family line have been eradicated, like a candle snuffed out for the last time? Surely the Old Bear would have told him sooner, instead of acting wistful and watching Jon as he went about his business. Jon knew that that wasn't it.

So then what _was_ it?

"If I have to use a bow and arrow one more time, I think I may very well vomit." Jon snapped out of his reverie and looked at his friend Sam humorously.

"Well, if you have to, don't do it near me." Sam made a face.

"I can't _take _it anymore, Jon, I can't do anything right. I thought the bow and arrow would be easy, but I have no _aim._" Jon sighed.

"Sam, you say the same thing everyday. You'll learn to face your fears one day, but for now, you move on and endure." Sam looked at him.

"Why has Mormont been calling for you as of late? You aren't his paramour, are you Jon Snow?" Jon let out a chuckle.

"I'm not sure what he wants, to be honest. He keeps looking at me oddly. Sometimes he looks as though he knows some dark secret that will reign terror down on me and everyone I love, other times he looks as though I'm one of the Seven." Jon looked down at his gloved hands in puzzlement, then sighed. "We better not be late for supper. Three-Fingered Hobb will spit in our soup."

The boys made their way to the kitchens, while Lord Mormont stared down from the tower overhead.

* * *

**(Meanwhile in the Lord Commander's Tower)**

"_Corn_," the old raven screeched. "_Corn, corn, corn" _Lord Mormont shut the raven's beak with his index and middle finger, momentarily silencing the bird.

"Shut up. I'm still _thinking."_ Mormont stared down at the aged parchment that rested in his hands. He had read the messy scrawl over and over again, yet the words still didn't seem real to Lord Mormont.

_The origins of this boy shall remain unknown, until there comes a time in which he can fully come into his birthright; protected, and out of harm._

He kept reread that sentence again and again. He couldn't simply _tell _the boy, that could land him in a great deal of danger. Yet he couldn't _not _tell him. So many choices, and all of them had consequences.

"I should tell him." The Old Bear said grudgingly, clutching at the parchment like a lover. "Yet...it could mean his death."

_"Death, death, death." _The raven quorked from his shoulder. The Lord Commander sat numbly, hands in fists at his sides. _What to do, what to do? _

The Lord Commander of the Night's Watch stood up stiffly and walked to the window. Outside the wind blew relentlessly, and down in the yard stood the boy in question.

A thought came to the Lord Commander, and in an instant he was walking at a brisk pace to Maester Aemon's quarters.

* * *

"In what manner should I approach this?" The old maester sat in his old rickety chair, humming softly to himself. At the Old Bear's words he clicked his tonue.

"Isn't that a decision the _Lord Commander of the Night's Watch _should be making?"

"Believe me when I say that I have spent a fortnight pondering this letter, and I still am at a loss."

Maester Aemon continued to hum to himself lightly, signalling he was in a good mood. In fact, he had been humming ever since the Lord Commander had given him the news.

"Do you know what I dreamt about last night, Lord Commander?" Mormont was taken aback.

"What has this got to do with-"

"I dreamt red."

"...red?" Lord Mormont started to regret his decision of asking Maester Aemon. He was too old and frail, and surely lacking his wits.

"Yes. Red. I saw a red star. A red star that bled in the sky. And dragons. Dragons with papery wings and fiery breath. They are coming, Lord Commander. Believe it when I tell you that they are coming."

"So what would you have me do?" Maester Aemon coughed once, and blinked tears out of his blind eyes.

"I would have you tell him." Aemon smiled, and leaned back in his wooden chair. " It's here, Lord Commander. It's finally here. The day when my family once again comes into power.

The day when the name Targaryen is finally restored."

**Please review!**


	2. Little Bird

**Hello everyone! So... I know it has been a while. More than a while to be honest (I think almost a month...sorry) , but I was busy doing exams and then I went to my cottage on vacation and then I came back a few days ago and I left it and left it until, finally, I decided enough was enough and I had to do it. **

**Ok so I need to clear things up. **

_**THE FOLLOWING INFORMATION IS IMPORTANT...SO READ IT. PLEASE.**_

**1) I got a review (thanks ian1246!) asking about when this will be placed, and so I hope I've cleared it up a bit in this chapter...so read to find out! Another thing to mention is that this chapter is set before the prologue, meaning that Lord Commander Mormont hasn't gotten the letter yet and everything is as it should be. So we're basically going backwards instead of progressing forwards. But be warned that this will only be for **_**this chapter**_**. The next chapter will take place after the letter has been opened by Mormont. Ok, hopefully that makes some sort of sense.**

**2) You'll see a POV from Sansa at the end of this chapter. It may seem really pointless now but she'll be a reoccuring character in the future and I also wanted to kind of show you when exactly she does start to become stronger and become a player instead of a piece. **

**3) This chapter **_**may **_**be a bit boring (I don't know if it is...it is to me sort of) but it's needed. Trust me.**

**4) Unfortunately, to all of the Jon fans reading this, he isn't in this chapter, but he'll be coming back soon! Just hold tight.**

**And lastly, thank you for all of the lovely reviews! I cannot express how grateful I am that all of you took time out of your lives to review, follow and favourite my story! I don't even know if it's that good it's just kind of a random thing that popped into my head haha. Thank you so much to all of you!**

**And now...enjoy!**

* * *

_**Varys**_

The wind gusted ferociously atop the hill, nearly blowing half of King's Landing along with it. Varys shuddered from the bottom of the hill under the overhang of a weathered inn. The inn and the innkeeper both looked about ready to topple over at a moment's notice, and both looked to be worn down with age. If he hadn't been here for greater purposes, he may have been inclined to engage in conversation with the man. Maybe share a secret or two. But Varys wasn't here to dawdle in the inn's common rooms with an ancient innkeep, or spy the whores lurking from man to man, awaiting custom. No, his business lay right before him, on the steps of the Great Sept of Baelor. Another wind current blew a woman's skirts up, and Varys thought that if the howling wind current could, it would knock a man's head from his shoulders. He smiled, despite the mood in the atmosphere, at his private jest. _It would seem the wind is having its way today, _he thought silently, turning his attention back to the event unravelling on the godly steps. In front of the sept, a man once thought of as honourable and honest stood pouring sins from his traitor's mouth. Varys knew they were lies. He knew that even if it _were _the truth, the boy-king Joffrey would have been deserving of everything Eddard had plotted. Varys turned so that his back faced the sept, and began walking. It would all be over soon, and Varys had no intention of waiting until he was stuck in a sea of arms and limbs to get back to the Red Keep. In the distance, he faintly heard Joffrey demanding Ser Ilyn to bring Eddard Stark's head, and listened as shouts of anger quickly turned to cheers of approval. He had known it would come to that. It was the talk of all of his little birds. He also knew Joffrey too well to expect otherwise. The boy was a fool who wished to tortured any animal he approached. He was especially interested in wolves, it seemed.

As Varys neared the Red Keep, he quickened his pace as he remembered his task. It seemed a lifetime ago, but could only have been a fortnight or two. Eddard's dying wish had been, perplexingly, left in his hands, and he had to make sure it was carried out.

In truth, Varys had always known about the boy. He had always known who and what he truly was. The advantages of having little birds was that you knew everything about everyone, and there were never any surprises. Varys hated surprises. So when Eddard had told him of his situation, Varys hadn't been at a loss for words. He knew the boy king was illegitimate- gods, people with the wits of a _goat_ knew the boy was illegitimate, so it wasn't a remarkable secret, but Varys considered it worth the effort nonetheless. Eddard had asked to deliver the news to the boy, but only _after_ he had died so he could keep his promise.

"The boy has the right to know." Varys had complied after only some persuasion.

Anyone of common birth who tried to pass the gates of the Red Keep would have been denied, but Varys was of importance among the nobles in King's Landing, so he passed the guards stationed at the gate with ease. He made his way to the tower that held his rooms and started the slow ascent up to his apartments. He entered his rooms hunched over, bending under the low arch of the doorway. His chambers were nothing if not claustrophobic. _Small chambers to account to the small size of a spider, _he thought miserably. Now if he were to acquire the _Hand's _apartments...

He quickly shuffled over to the wooden table, chipping away with age, and dipped a quill in thick, glossy ink. He grabbed a parchment from his drawers and started scribbling on the page, noticing how jagged and harsh his hand was. He needed to be timely about his business. If the queen should know about his involvement with Stark, it would mean the same brutal fate. He ran over to the window, a raven crooked under one arm.

"Don't presume to get yourself killed on the way to the Wall." He told the bird before sending it flapping into the distance. Varys sighed. "Seven bloody hells. The things I do for you, Stark." He turned and slowly made his way back into the afternoon winds.

* * *

_**Sansa**_

Hundreds of ravens tore free from their captivity as Lord Eddard Stark lost his head. They flew so close together that from the ground they seemed to merge to form a gaping hole in the sky. _Just like the hole in my heart, _Sansa thought absentmindedly as the knight restraining her dropped her onto her hands and knees on the steps of the sept. _These grounds aren't holy. Not anymore. There's been bloodshed of an innocent man on these steps. _Her father's bloodshed, to be sure. And blood there was. Blood, blood, blood. Pouring from Eddard Stark's severed neck in an endless stream of red. _It looks like my hair is being tugged out his neck. _She laughed at that, until she cried. When she started to cry, she couldn't stop. She cried and cried until she screamed. She suddenly felt someone tug her upwards, towards that endlessly black hole in the sky, and she screamed even louder.

"Silence her," she heard someone say, and for a moment she thought they were going to kill her. _Death would be better than this, _she thought, starting to relax. Someone slapped her instead, causing her to crumple back onto the ground like a taut string gone limp. She was seized by her upper arm and pulled to her feet, where she was then dragged through the crowd back towards the Red Keep.

"No. No, no, no!" She cried. "My father-" She was cut off by another slap that sent her reeling.

"It would do for a little bird such as yourself to look presentable in public. Did your septa teach you nothing?" The Hound looked down at her and scowled. She looked up dismally into that awful, repulsive face, but didn't respond. She felt like her sister Arya in those few moments after her father's death. She felt her etiquette and poise slipping from her grasp, and it terrified her beyond words.

She felt herself begin to weep again, but pinched herself on her upper arm and reminded herself to _be a lady. _Lady... that brought another round of tears, until she couldn't help herself and she let herself sob all the way back to the Red Keep.

As they neared the gates, Sansa noticed a lone raven flying through the sky with a rolled up parchment in it's talons. She could envision what it read, and it made her sick to even think of it. _There was so much blood..._ She was momentarily entranced by the raven, and stopped suddenly in her tracks to peer up at it. Sandor Clegane grunted impatiently and pulled her forward roughly. She couldn't say why, but the sight of that raven gave her courage, and she slowly wiped away her tears and stood tall, to regain as much dignity as she possibly could.

_I will be weak no longer. I am a Stark, and I _can _be brave. _

**Yeah. I finished this at two in the morning last night, and I kind of rushed it because I needed to give you guys **_**something **_**at least, so don't judge me too hard on this chapter. I'll be more prepared next chapter (and hopefully you won't have to wait as long.)**

**Please review!**


End file.
